


Dusk til Dawn

by ShadowHeartofFaith



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-05 02:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13378068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowHeartofFaith/pseuds/ShadowHeartofFaith
Summary: “No”, he tells her gently. “That future will never come now, thanks to you. You’ve failed no one.”“Tell that to the Templars”, she snarls, drawing away from him. “And the Seekers and the Wardens.” She fists her hands into her hair and trembles. “I couldn’t even protect my own family, Dorian. How can I protect Thedas? All of these people are counting on me and I’m not at all what they think I am. Andraste didn’t choose me, the Maker didn’t send me. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. How do you live with that? How can you just lie to people like that?”Elodie Lavellan is no stranger to the sting of loss and the events of Adamant have shaken her to her core.As the Inquisition's trip to Orlais draws closer, Elodie must allow herself to make some choices about what remains of her personal life.





	1. Failure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlemissjigglypuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissjigglypuff/gifts).



She’s draped in one of her bed sheets, eyes tired and blood-shot. Candles flicker in the darkened corner of the library and ghosts tease at the edges of her blurring vision. Specters of her past that will not seem to leave her alone.

            She swears she can hear the wailing of an infant ringing in her ears.

            Elodie shuffles through Dorian’s notes again, following the curling characters of his carefully etched script. He’s been teaching her to translate Tevine and she struggles daily with the seemingly ancient foreign language. Why all of her problems seemed to come from the Tevinter Imperium were beyond her.

            The Venatori, this crazed Darkspawn Magister.

            But if anything was going to help her evade the grasping clutches of her nightmares, it was her frustration over this language and its ridiculous verbs.

            Thunder crashes and she jumps, concentration broken.

            The book in her hands thuds to the floor, pages splayed against the marble.

            “Elodie.”

            She freezes, bent at the waist, one arm extended to retrieve the fallen tome.

            “Elodie.”

            Her free hand fists into her sheet, drawing it tightly to her chest. Her eyes scan the surrounding darkness of the upper floor and she suddenly wishes Solas were awake and working on his murals in the rotunda.

            “Vhenan’ara, do you not recognize your heart?”

            Her blood runs cold as the voice becomes clearer, breaking through some fog in her brain.

            “Ladahlen”, she breathes. “Ma vhenan…”

            “Do you not miss us, ma’sa’lath?” he whispers desperately as he emerges from the smog of the flickering shadows.

            He is just as she had remembered him. As if her memory alone had brought him to living flesh before her eyes.

            Ladahlen is lithe and tall, small by human standards but large for an elf. His raven locks sweep across his brow and his deep umber eyes are fixed solely on her.

            She had spent years staring into those eyes that had been so full of love and adoration for her in a time long past.

            And looking at him now stole the breath from her lungs.

            Her man. Her heart.

            “I think of you every day, vhenan”, she tells him, her voice thick with grief and wanting. “Both of you. I miss you every day.”

            She takes a small step toward him and he wavers.

            His eyes narrow on her and he regards her coolly.

            “No”, he says thoughtfully, detached. “You failed. You failed me. You failed our child. You were no First.”

            “Ladahlen”, she pleads, reaching out. “Please, my heart, you cannot truly think that. Please-“

            “NO!”

            His face flashes with a fiery rage and he melts away into flame before her.

            “Ladahlen!” she cries out, rushing forward toward the bannister.

            The looming form of the Nightmare fills her vision and the sickening smell of fear fills her nostrils, gags her. The sickly green glow of the Fade fills the air and she is back in the graveyard. Her fears laid bare.

            She can hardly breathe, her despair a seemingly palpable thing manifesting in the air.

            _“Some silly little girl comes to steal the fear I so kindly lifted from her shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay. Forgotten.”_

            She scrambles back, knocking carefully catalogued books from their shelves.

            _“You think that pain will make you stronger. What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one that grows stronger from your fear is me.”_

            The creature moves closer, clawed hands reaching for her, its wicked maw parted as it breathes in her terror.

            She slams back against the stone bearing her name and beneath it-

**FAILURE.**

            _“Ah, yes. Your truest fear. It has poisoned your very soul. You could not keep your only child alive. You could not save the one who loved you from certain death. You were never a favorite among your clan. Too feeling, too quiet. You will never be enough for the fools who follow you now. Who look to you for protection.” It laughs wickedly as she chokes on a scream. “They will curse your name, Elodie Lavellan. All of Thedas-“_

            Bracing one hand behind her to grip her tombstone, she hauls herself to her feet, her left hand shooting out, anchor flaring. Lightning dances at her fingertips, fueled by her rage.

            “Elodie!”

            She squeezes her eyes shut. “No more!”

            She feels the electricity coursing in her veins, the magic too strong to contain in her distress.

            “Elodie!”

            The voice breaks through the shifting green of the Fade and the Nightmare crumbles before her.

            The shimmering of a barrier spell meets her eyes when she finally looks up.

            Dorian.

            It’s Dorian.

            “Ellie, I’d really prefer if you didn’t try to cook me lightning, darling.”

            She immediately clenches her fist, gritting her teeth as she draws the tempest back in and pushes it deep down until it recedes.

            And then the tears begin to fall.

            He is at her side in an instant, gathering her into his arms.

            “Oh, Ellie”, he sighs sadly into her loose mess of hair.

            Elodie’s cheek is pressed up against the hard plane of his chest, his heart beating steadily into her ear. Steady, soothing, and real.

            She attempts to let that ground her but her chest is wracked with loud sobs that break free of her with ease.

            His fingers trace nonsensical patterns against her back, stroke gently along the length of her trembling spine as he holds her up.

            She’s trying to breathe in deeply through her nose, the same ghosts flashing behind her eyes.

            Her sweet little Ellowen, only days old and swaddled in blankets that the elders had given her. Her tiny little girl with those bright eyes gazing up at her sleepily.

            Ladahlen’s strong arms holding her tightly as she wept when their baby was taken from her arms and returned to the earth.

            Her father’s trembling hands as he took his only daughter deep into the forest to find a tree suitable to plant for her lost child.

            Her brother, Auren, the day he had left Clan Lavellan at Arlathvhen.

            She weeps for what she has lost and what she has missed and Dorian allows her to unravel in his hold.

            “Oh, my darling, you are exhausted”, he murmurs lowly against her crown. “Have you slept since Adamant?”

            She shakes her head against his chest.

            “Not well…not since Redcliffe”, she chokes out, her tears leaving glossy trails down her cheeks. “Solas, Cassandra, Leliana…Cullen encased in lyrium. I failed them…”

            “No”, he tells her gently. “That future will never come now, thanks to you. You’ve failed no one.”

            “Tell that to the Templars”, she snarls, drawing away from him. “And the Seekers and the Wardens.” She fists her hands into her hair and trembles. “I couldn’t even protect my own family, Dorian. How can I protect Thedas? All of these people are counting on me and I’m not at all what they think I am. Andraste didn’t choose me, the Maker didn’t send me. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. How do you live with that? How can you just lie to people like that?”

            A horrible grating laugh escapes her lips and she sinks to the floor, head in her hands.

            Dorian kneels beside her. “Well, you do have me”, he offers without his usual bravado. “You are my dearest friend, Ellie. More likely you are my only friend. And you know how I detest such open emotional sentiments. But I am with you. Until the end.”

            She leans her head against his shoulder, her throat thick with feelings that she can’t seem to find words for.

            They sit in silence as Elodie’s sobs begin to slow and her tears run dry. The candles burn low and rain strikes against the window panes and Skyhold sleeps on.

            “Have you been to see the Commander since we’ve returned?” he finally asks.

            Elodie swallows hard.

            “No”, she replies slowly. “I am…avoiding him, if I’m being completely honest.”

            “After that kiss he gave you when we stumbled back out of the Fade, I’d have thought you’d be holed up in his room for days”, Dorian quips cheekily.

             Elodie’s face flames as she thinks back on that kiss.

            She’d hardly made it back into the camp when he’d come striding toward her and caught her about the waist and all but devoured her. It had been so unlike him and her lips still stung with the force and fervor of his kiss.

            “It’s not that simple”, she protests lamely, his taste still resting on her tongue.

            “Isn’t it?” Dorian argues. “I was of the impression that when two people love each other-“

            “I do not love him!” she interjects quickly.

            Too quickly.

           Dorian gives her a sideways look at that. He purses his lips and arches a brow as he studies her carefully and she does her best not to squirm under the weight of his gaze.

          “You’re an atrocious liar”, he informs her. “It’s a wonder that you manage to get away with anything, lady Inquisitor.”

          She scowls and fixes her eyes on her feet.

          “Are you afraid?”

          “Why would I be afraid of him?”

          “Elodie.”

          His tone brokers no room for nonsense or half-truths.

          She heaves a sigh. “He’s human. I’m an elf. And a mage. I can never be what he needs. And even if I could be, my clan-“

          “Is that what this is about?” he scoffs. “Your ideals on Dalish duty? Does Solas think the same thing?”

          Her eyes widen.

          “Solas…no! No. He and I-we…we kissed once. Sort of…in the Fade-“

_“You what?”_

         Dorian looks like he’s seen the face of the Maker and He turned out to be Corypheus.

        “Explain. Now.”

        She holds her hands up in surrender. “It was when we first came to Skyhold. It was a very charged emotional time for me and he was familiar…it hardly happened at all”, she admits. “It was a mistake and we treated it as such.”

        “But you’ve clung to that. The familiarity of being of the same people. Whether Solas agrees with that sentiment or not.” He takes her by the shoulders. “You are more than the points of your ears, Ellie. And your Commander is more than his. Seize what happy moments you can, this Inquisition-this world-will gladly take the rest.”

        She begins to protest and Dorian raises a hand to silence her.

        “I know he makes you happy. You grin like an idiot whenever he walks into a room and I’ve caught you staring at his… _assets_ more times than I care to remember. The man worships the ground you walk on and not just because you’re the Herald of Andraste or whatever pish they’ve decided on calling you this week. In Cullen’s opinion, you’ve hung the sun in the sky. A blind man could see it.”

        Elodie stares at Dorian, her jaw slack.

        “Why would he want me?” she whispers after a few beats.

        “Because despite his horrid taste in fashion, he appears to have superb taste in women, darling”, Dorian supplies with a soft smile.

        She blinks, her chest tight, and wonders if it would be alright to finally let herself move on from Ladahlen. If she could allow herself to be the person she had once been before she’d felt the cost of death.

        The idea terrifies her.

        But the memory of Cullen’s relief upon seeing her survive Haven and her fall from the Fade at Adamant were burned into her mind.

_“Safe and solid, protecting and proud. He feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him”,_ Cole had told her.

       “Come now, I pinched a bottle of the good wine from the kitchens.”

       Dorian’s voice draws her from her thoughts.

       She takes his outstretched hand and gets to her feet.

       “Dorian, I-thank you”, she manages as they walk toward the stairs.

       “Whatever for, darling?”

       “For being you. I know you _detest emotional sentiments_ but I am grateful to have you”, she admits.

       He squeezes her hand. “Just think on what I said, will you? About our dear Commander.”

       She nods. “I will”, she promises.


	2. With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She hesitates outside of the door to Cullen’s office, her mouth dry as she searches for the proper words.  
> “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. That kiss you gave me at Adamant was nice. Maybe would could try that again sometime” didn’t seem appropriate. At all. And Dorian would likely strangle her if he knew that she had even thought those words.

Skyhold is quiet as the stars begin winking back at her from the darkening heavens. The ancient stone walls seem to hum and sigh with long forgotten magic as she pads through the halls, her bare feet silent on the marble. Elodie is grateful for the near silence after the day’s events.

            Preparations are in full swing for their upcoming visit to the Winter Palace.

            And she has never been quite so exhausted.

            Dress fittings, dance lessons, a marvelous crash course on Orlesian politics and the dizzying history that accompanies that sort of thing. To add to her mounting frustrations, she’d been trapped in the War Room the better half of the evening standing beside Cullen.

            Her fingers had itched to reach for his, Dorian’s words playing through her head.

            Solas is sitting at his desk, quill scratching against parchment, when she passes through the rotunda. He does not look up and she does not acknowledge him. His mind is clearly somewhere else and so is hers.

            She ghosts through the room and with a deep breath in through her nose, she pushes open the door that leads to the battlements.

            From here the lingering sounds from the tavern float to her ears. Maryden’s singing, the thunderous laughter of her companions. A tiny smile tugs at her lips. Her oldest friends are not here, her father is not here and she misses her brother with a near constant ache in her chest.

But it is home.

            She hesitates outside of the door to Cullen’s office, her mouth dry as she searches for the proper words.

            “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. That kiss you gave me at Adamant was nice. Maybe would could try that again sometime” didn’t seem appropriate. At all. And Dorian would likely strangle her if he knew that she had even _thought_ those words.

            She knocks twice and slips inside before she loses her nerve.

            He’s at his desk, scanning a rather lengthy looking report and does not lift his head when she enters.

            “I’ll be with you in a moment”, he says with a heavy sigh.

            Elodie swallows past the jumbled nerves that have now clogged her throat, leans lightly against the wall and waits.

            A few beats pass and she’s lost staring at the way his golden hair is curling around his ears and falling across his brow. The lines of shadows across his face as the candles flicker, his deep golden eyes so focused-

            “Inquisitor! My apologies. I didn’t realize it was you”, he’s saying and she startles, pulling herself away from the wall. “Did you need something before tomorrow’s council?”

            Elodie blinks, struggling to clear her head and remember why she had come in the first place. “Yes. I-no. No, nothing for the war council, Commander”, she replies.

            He stares back at her, his eyes warmer, gentler, than she’d seen them in weeks.

            “I wanted to speak with you about something personal, actually”, she begins carefully. “If you have a moment, that is.”

            “For you? Always.”

            She exhales, realizing belatedly she’d been holding her breath.

Cullen straightens and gestures to the eastern battlements.

            She steels herself and follows him from his office and back out into the night air. There’s a slight chill and she tugs her coat more tightly around her as they walk. He is a solid presence at her side and she can feel heat radiating from him.

            “Have you been well?” she asks awkwardly to break the silence.

            He offers a noncommittal shrug. “Nothing out of the ordinary. The herbs you’ve sent have been helpful though. You have my thanks, lady Inquisitor.”

            _Herbs?_

            She looks away and nods.

            His hand closes around her forearm. “Elodie, are you feeling alright?”

            Her eyes are drawn up to his and he takes a step forward.

            “You’re trembling. Are you cold?” he asks with such deep concern that her breath catches painfully in her chest.         

            The last person to take care of her in such a way had been…

            “Cullen”, she whispers as he begins to remove his mantle. “I’m not cold…I…I wanted to apologize. I have not been very forward with you and I want that to change. If you’ll still have me.” She curls her fingers over his where they still rest on her arm. “I find myself thinking of you. More than…well, all the time really…”

            His free hand comes up to cup her cheek. “Elodie…”

            “I know it doesn’t make much sense. Why I would be afraid-“

            “You think I’m not?” he interjects, clearly bewildered. “You’re the _Inquisitor_ , we’re at war. You face danger every day and I am not always there to protect you. That frightens me plenty.” He rests his brow against hers and she can breathe again. “I know that your heart is…healing. And if you are not ready-“

            “Cullen”, she murmurs, nudging his nose with hers. “After Adamant-“

            “That was out of line and I-“

            She leans in then and slants her mouth over his.

            He tastes like elfroot and he smells like lemon and sweat and something darker, woodsier. It’s intoxicating.

 His hands fall to her waist, pulling her closer until she is huddled up against his chest, her head tilted up to reach him. Her fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck as she pulls him down further, kissing him as she should have weeks ago.

            He groans against her mouth when she nips his lower lip with her teeth.

            “It was perfect”, she breaths shakily against his lips, each word the whisper of another kiss. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that sooner.”

            His smile is nearly heartbreaking on his kiss-swollen lips.

            He frames her face with his hands and spends a span of moments simply staring at her. It warms her down to her toes.

            _“The man worships the ground you walk on and not just because you’re the Herald of Andraste or whatever pish they’ve decided on calling you this week. In Cullen’s opinion, you’ve hung the sun in the sky. A blind man could see it.”_

            She’s not sure if she should hug Dorian or strangle him.

            But when Cullen’s lips brush over hers, she decides quickly that she will be bringing her dearest friend a bottle of wine in the near future.

            “Are you sure?” he murmurs gently. “I will not pressure you. After Adamant I was…so relieved. I did not give it much thought.” He rubs anxiously at the back of his neck.

            “I am sure”, she responds softly.

            His smile grows with his relief but falls when she shivers.

            He finishes his earlier work of removing his furred coat.

“I can’t stand the thought of you being cold”, he explains settling it over her shoulders, brushing back loose strands of her hair. “After Haven, pulling you from the snow…it-I can’t…”

            Elodie grasps his hand and tugs him back toward his office. “Then let us go inside. I can make us a fire.”

            She spies the bundles of herbs he had mentioned upon reentering his space. They are bundled together and secured with a length of ribbon the color of sunflower petals. She narrows her eyes and snatches up the nearest one for a closer look.

            It’s a decent recipe, this blend, but not one that she would have chosen personally for Cullen’s symptoms.

            “I’ve been making it into a tea as your note suggested”, he tells her as he sheds his breast plate and arm braces. “It helps me sleep in the evenings.”

            “When did you say you started receiving these, ma’isha?”

            “About a month or so ago. Just after we returned from the Warden fortress”, Cullen says after some thought. “Why do you ask? I thought you had been sending them.”

            She plucks at the ribbon.

            The wild flowers outside of her rooms. The herbs in Cullen’s office.

            “We’ve been had”, she sighs.

            “Excuse me?”

            She holds up the yellow ribbon. “I’ve seen this same fabric in Josephine’s office. Something about Orlesian fashion. It would explain a few things.”

            “Oh?”

            She holds up the herbs for his inspection. “I’d have given you more elfroot mixed with dawn lotus. This brew will work fine for a short while. I tend to go for a slightly stronger approach. I would imagine whoever has been sending you these is the same person who has been sending me flowers.”

            “Someone is sending you flowers?”

            He moves across the room to stand before her in his tunic and leathers. He searches her face at the mention of flowers.

            She nods. “For a few months now. I’d not given it much thought but-“

            “Josephine and Dorian”, they say in unison.

            Cullen shakes his head and barks a laugh. “Of course. Those two are as meddlesome as they come. Have we been that obvious?”

            She shrugs her shoulders. “Do you think it would have mattered to them either way?”

            “No”, he sighs. “I suppose not.”

            Elodie lays the herbs aside. “Well…I suppose we could just give them what they want.”

            He smirks. “Oh? Do you think they deserve that much consideration after this latest stunt?”

            Elodie laughs and shakes her head, biting at her lip. “No. Not yet at least.”

            “This is war”, Cullen agrees. “But that does not mean that we need to be casualties. I say we make them work for it.”

            “I couldn’t agree more.”

            She leans up on her toes, his mantle falling to pool around her feet, and wraps her arms around him. _I’m finally ready_ , she thinks as she stares up at him. _I want to move on._

            He scoops her up into his arms and starts toward the ladder to his loft.

            _I love him_ , she realizes in wonder as he leans down to kiss her once more, the softness of his lips a reassurance.

            _“Safe and solid, protecting and proud. He feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him.”_

            They stumble toward his bed, roaming hands and pressing lips. She twines around him, the heels of her feet digging into the small of his back, his nose skimming along the column of her throat as he bites and sucks.

            He is warm and solid and whole and real. He makes her feel like just maybe she can do this. Lead these people, protect them. And it all seems so much more possible when he’s holding her in his arms, his chest pressed against hers as he breathes her in.

            _I love him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed.  
> Come say hi on tumblr. @shadowheartoffaith


	3. Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen sighs heavily, pushing away from his desk.  
> There is a mountain of paperwork glaring back at him but his focus is down in the garden with the musical sound of Elodie's laughter.  
> He rubs at the back of his neck, muscles stiff and sore.  
> Surely a quick stroll would not give him away.  
> And should anyway ask, he could tell them he was passing along Knight-Captain Rylen's reports to Inquisitor Lavellan.

He can hear her laughter from the battlements.

     The sun streaks through the clouds that are gathering overhead and a cool breeze ruffles his hair and the furred collar of his coat.

      Josephine has everyone deeply immersed in preparations for the Inquisition's trip to the Winter Palace for Celene's peace talks. And Cullen swears to Andraste that if he is forced into a twentieth version of this ridiculous dress uniform that he is going to assassinate the Empress of Orlais himself.

      Elodie has been back in Skyhold for a week and is expected in the Western Approach before month's end.

      With their roles keeping them apart and their individual duties keeping them busy from sun-up and well past sun-down he has hardly had any time to see her. To nurture this new and blossoming thing between them.

      He's been horribly unproductive in her absence, his mind wandering to what her lips feel like.

      Cullen sighs heavily, pushing away from his desk.

       There is a mountain of paperwork glaring back at him but his focus is down in the garden with the musical sound of Elodie's laughter.

       He rubs at the back of his neck, muscles stiff and sore.

       Surely a quick stroll would not give him away.

       And should anyway ask, he could tell them he was passing along Knight-Captain Rylen's reports to Inquisitor Lavellan. He has been stationed in the dessert for well over two months now and given his sightings, Elodie would need all the information he could gather on the place.

       He could keep their secret.

       He just had to see her. Know what had her laughing so.

       The Iron Bull is seated where Cullen and Dorian play their weekly game of chess. In his hand is a large tankard and Cullen can smell its contents from a few paces away and the odor wrinkles his nose.

       "Cullen!" Bull acknowledges with a raise of his hand. "The boss had the garden cleared for a few hours."

       Before Cullen can ask what for, Dorian's cursing grabs at his attention.

       " _Kaffas_ , woman! Are you very well determined to break every one of my toes?!"

        Elodie howls with laughter, her lips pulled back in such a wide grin that all of her teeth show.

        Time seems to freeze for Cullen, his whole world narrowing down to her standing beneath the gazebo with mirthful tears in her eyes.

        Two months.

        Two long months they'd been keeping this secret between them. Hoping for the privacy to truly know each other.

         Looking at her now, he wonders why he bothers with such secrecy.

         He would shout it from the highest towers in Skyhold but he refrained. It would reflect poorly on her for him behave in such a way.

          She's grasping at Dorian's shoulders as she leans into him, nearly breathless in her teasing.

          The long waves of her red hair cascade loosely down her back and he longs to run his fingers through the silky tresses. Her feet are bare as is usual for her but in place of her usual leathers and tunic is a long silk slip. The viridian fabric hugs her hips and the hem brushes the tops of her feet.

_Dancing_ , he realizes belatedly in his daze.  _She's practicing her dancing._

          "Again", Dorian is saying as he takes her waist and pulls her back into the proper stance.

          "They've been at it for hours". Bull informs him, a smile tugging at his lips. "They make quite the pair."

          Cullen takes the seat opposite the Qunari and listens to Elodie and Dorian bicker about styles of dance.

          "I think she needed the distraction after our Red Templar run-in on the Coast."

          "Is it spreading?" Cullen asks, momentarily distracted.

          Bull nods, his expression grim. "Whatever they're doing in those fucking ruins, it's working. The shit sings, Cullen. Gives me the damn creeps."

          Cullen silently agrees.

          He can still hear the call of lyrium singing hot in his veins as his body fights against it.

          "She worries about you, you know."

          Cullen starts, head snapping up. "E-excuse me?"

          "The boss", Bull clarifies nonchalantly. "She never says it out loud but I know the lyrium shit really gets to her."

          "Yes, well", Cullen begins thickly before clearing his throat. "She needn't worry for me. She has more important matters to attend to."

           Bull chuckles at that. "It's in her character, Commander."

           "You get that from your Ben-Hassrath training?"

           "Nah. The boss is...she's good people. Don't see many like her. Who else do you think could pull this off? Hell, she even makes _Solas_ smile."

_"I will be an ambassador. I'm an elf standing for Thedas. The Inquisition is for all."_

            Her words ring in his ears, deafening.

            It feels like another lifetime.

            As if it had been ages since she’d taken up that sword and accepted the title of Inquisitor.

            Dorian leads Elodie through another elaborate spin as Bull sips his drink.

            "Very good!" the mage praises. "Now again without stumbling. You need to appear light on your feet, Inquisitor."

            She squares her shoulders and lifts her head, falling back into Dorian's careful steps.

            "She is something", Cullen acquiesces softly.

             Bull follows Cullen's gaze.

             "Oh, don't tell me you haven't wondered about what that would be like", the larger man presses with a good-natured smirk. "If she's anything in the sack like she is on the field she's going to make someone  _veeeeeerrry_  happy."

              Cullen's face flames red at the insinuation.

              Bull roars with laughter.

              "Lighten up, Commander! She may lead this parade of determined misfits but she's still a woman! A very attractive one. And she's got _needs_ -"

               Cullen swallows hard, remembering the taste of her mouth, the way she had slung her legs low around his hips, the way her heels had dug into the small of his back to urge him closer. The soft keening moans he'd drawn from her as his teeth grazed the long, pointed tip of her ear-

               A tremor runs up the length of his spine at the recollection. 

              “Dorian’s got a tight ass”, Bull continues conversationally. “But the boss has _incredible_ tits. It’s amazing there isn’t a line through Skyhold waiting for a piece of that!”

               Cullen is burning up, his mouth going impossibly dry.

               “I really don’t think that-“

               “Cullen!”

                His heart hammers hard against the cage of his ribs. It echoes in his ears and he swears everyone can hear it through his armor.

                 _Sweet Maker…_

                Her cheeks are flushed pink, her hair falling over her shoulders and he can smell the elfroot and lavender wafting off of her from where he sits.

                “Inquisitor”, he manages to croak out as he hastily gets to his feet.

                “Have you come for dance lessons as well?” Elodie asks as she approaches, Dorian at her heels.

                “I-well, no”, he stammers.

                Dorian flashes him a feral grin. “Come now, Commander. All eyes will be on us in the Winter Palace. Might as well learn from the best”, he purrs with a wink.

                “Maker’s breath.”

                Elodie giggles behind her hand. “That’s him”, she informs Cullen. “He’s the best. At least he thinks he is.”

                Bull nearly chokes on his ale, coughing as he fights his laughter.

                Dorian shoots him a sharp glare. “Quiet, you oaf.”

                “Hey, kadan”, Bull chuckles, lifting his hands in surrender. “She said it, not me.”

                “If dancing naked in the moonlight were a widely accepted practice in Orlais, I’m sure our Lady Lavellan would charm the court in no time-“

                “That is  _not_  how the Dalish dance and you know it”, Elodie grumbles out, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.        

                At the movement Cullen’s eyes are drawn to the gentle swell of her breasts peaking from the low neckline of her silk dress.

                There was no way she could have smalls on under such a garment…

                “-did you need, Commander?”

                His attention snaps back to her face and his blood runs cold.

                “I’m sorry?”

                She offers a soft smile, eyes lingering on his lips for a fleeting moment.

                “Are those reports for me?” she asks, nodding to the stack sitting on the table.

                 _Yes_ , he thinks.  _Rylen’s reports._

                “For your trip to the Western Approach”, he supplies, gathering the papers. “If you have the time, Inquisitor. It can certainly be handled tomorrow.”

                She turns to Dorian. “Am I dismissed, Master Pavus?”

                The Tevinter smirks. “Off with you, woman. I’m going to soak my poor feet before tomorrow’s lessons.”

                Elodie’s gaze shifts back to Cullen. “It appears I’m all yours, Commander Rutherford.”

                His chest tightens at her words but he nods once, attempting to remain composed. He mumbles goodbyes to Dorian and Bull and leads Elodie back to his office, his fingers itching to reach out and wrap around hers. 

 


	4. Nothing by Half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Any letters from Curly?” Varric asks breaking her concentration.  
>  Her face flushes and her stomach flutters with a thousand butterfly wings at the mention of Cullen. She clears her throat and pulls her braid over her shoulder, running her fingers along the thick rope of her hair. “I’m sure he’s perfectly capable of managing the Inquisition’s forces without me”, she says with a frown.  
>  It’s a lie.  
>  He had sent a missive ahead while they had been camped at Griffon Wing Keep days earlier. She hadn’t seen it fit to share that letter with her friends. It was…personal. And so she keeps it folded and tucked into her armour.   
>  A small piece of him to keep close until she returns to Skyhold.

The sun winks out of existence for a long moment as the beast circles closer with a shriek. The sound raises every hair on the back of Elodie’s neck and she lowers herself into a crouch, staff in hand. The beating of heavy wings tugs at her armour and has her hair escaping the confines of her usually-neat bun.

            “Oh, wow! You’re the best, Boss!” Bull is yelling across the dunes, hefting his war hammer. “The absolute best! This is a very good day!”

            Dorian shrinks closer to Elodie his own staff at the ready as he watches the dragon moving closer and closer. “You are entirely too happy about this!”

            Varric raises Bianca, his expression one of acceptance. “A dragon”, he says with a dark chuckle. “Of course. A dragon! Why not? You really do get us into the most interesting positions, Red!”

            She can smell the gurgut innards from where she stands and she grimaces.

            “Here she comes!” Bull roars as the dragon touches down at the opposite end of the basin.

            _“Bull!”_ Elodie hisses. “It hasn’t seen us-“

            The Qunari takes off at a ran, his weapon gripped tightly in his hands as he moves.

            “Andraste’s ass”, Varric swears and takes off behind him. “We better cover him unless you want a charbroiled Qunari!”

            She casts a sidelong look at Dorian whose mouth is agape in shock.

            The dragon turns on Bull as he raises his hammer over his head with a roar of his own. Its neck coils back like a serpent and when it lunges forward, a gurgle escapes its toothy maw as fire spills forth.

            All she can focus on is the smell of singed flesh and rotting gurgut intestines.

            When the flames recede she finds Bull hacking into the dragon’s haunches and Varric’s arrows lancing off its scaly hide.

            “A little help over here!” the rogue hollers in askance, jamming another bolt into his crossbow.

            Elodie reaches down inside of herself and feels around for the touch of frost that lingers after so many years of disuse. It’s faint at first, the tingling feeling that races up from her fingertips and along her arms. It’s been years since she focused on much outside of storm magic and the sensation is cool but familiar.

            Like an old friend.

            She fade-steps as Solas had taught her and races around the shrieking dragon, calling up a wall of ice. The spell falters for a moment before it hardens and she worries that maybe she truly has forgotten.

            The beast thrashes about on the other side of the wall, its cries becoming more and more distressed until the icy crystals fracture and splinter apart.

            Elodie takes a measured step back and looks up at the dragon, sees herself reflected in glassy golden eyes.

            She freezes as it regards her, its head tipping forward slightly in its study of her.

            Elodie swallows hard, sweating palms gripping tightly to the oak-wood staff in her hands.

            “Ellie!” Dorian cries out and her trance is broken.

            The dragon lunges forward and Elodie ducks down, rolling beneath it, sending a bolt of electricity up into the un-armoured flesh at the joint of its leg.

            Another deafening shriek and she feels the familiar pulse of Dorian’s magic as he blasts at the high dragon from afar.

            She scrabbles across the sand, catching snatches of hollered conversation between Bull and Varric. The dragon’s wingbeats drag her back toward the beast’s great body, her staff forgotten as she reaches out for something- _anything_ -to grab onto.

            Gritting her teeth, she flips herself onto her back and calls a storm into her opened palms. She screams with the sheer force of it, lightning racing across her limbs, alighting her blood.

            She watches the life leave the dragon’s eyes as the tempest finds home and with a mighty thump its head rolls to the shifting desert sands beside her.

            Bull is standing over the crumpled beast, covered in blood and grinning like a mad man. “THAT WAS AMAZING!”

            Elodie blinks blearily up at him and lets her body fall back into the fire-scorched sands. And she laughs.

*******

            For as hellishly hot the days were in the Western Approach, the nights were fiercely cold.

            Her companions are sitting across the fire, Varric with a pen in hand scribbling away. Dorian is worrying over Bull’s newest collections of scars.

            “-race toward a fire-breathing monster! What are you thinking?!”

            Bull rolls his eyes but a smile plays along the curve of his mouth. “You worry too much, kadan. The boss made out worse than I did and you’re not mothering her-“

            “Mothering?!” Dorian thunders.

            Elodie smiles to herself and shuffles through the stack of missives the requisition officer had handed her upon returning to the Nazaire’s Pass camp.

            They had traveled almost another day before finally settling to let their wounds heal.

            Her back is stiff and bruises are forming dark and purple along her arms. She has a gash across her shoulder and a superficial burn along one thigh. She rolls her shoulders and glances over the reports.

            Some from Rylen updating her on their hold of the Approach. One from Leliana informing her that Servis had arrived at Skyhold for questioning. An entire stack of nonsense about different noblemen asking to escort her to the Winter Palace.

            That ugly reminder sits in the back of her mind.

            “Any letters from Curly?” Varric asks breaking her concentration.

            Her face flushes and her stomach flutters with a thousand butterfly wings at the mention of Cullen. She clears her throat and pulls her braid over her shoulder, running her fingers along the thick rope of her hair. “I’m sure he’s perfectly capable of managing the Inquisition’s forces without me”, she says with a frown.

            It’s a lie.

            He had sent a missive ahead while they had been camped at Griffon Wing Keep days earlier. She hadn’t seen it fit to share _that_ letter with her friends. It was… _personal_. And so she keeps it folded and tucked into her armour.

            A small piece of him to keep close until she returns to Skyhold.

            “Oh? Did our dashing Commander send a letter?” Dorian jumps in with a smirk. “Is it a _naughty_ letter?”

            Elodie rolls her eyes and wills herself to remain composed even as she feels heat rising against her cheeks.

            “Are you all obsessed with this notion?” she snaps.

            She is answered with a chorus of “Yes”.

            She sighs heavily and tucks the reports back into her pack.

            “I think more than a few of us saw the way he kissed you at Adamant”, Varric presses suggestively. “It was poetic. And it couldn’t have been the first time.”

            Elodie thinks of the first time, fidgeting with the hem of her tunic as it all rushes back.

            It had been impulsive of her.

            They’d been seated in the garden and he was teaching her to play chess. And she had just leaned across the table-

            “It’s _not_ the first time!” Varric exclaims, his face equal parts shocked and smug. “Come on now, Inquisitor. I have to put this in my next book. _The foreign Herald of Andraste and her dashing Commander-“_

            “Please”, she begs. “He is the leader of our forces. I have great respect for his-“

            _“Ass”,_ Dorian coughs. He even has the audacity to grin when she glares daggers at him from across the campfire.

            “I thought you were involved with Solas”, Bull interjects, his brows furrowing. “What happened to that?”

            Elodie’s eyes widen and she immediately turns to Varric. “What did you do?” she demands, fighting the urge to reach out and throttle him.

            The dwarf shrugs indifferently. “Is it not true?”

            “Of course, it’s not true! You are a horrible gossip!”

            Varric chuckles. “How do you think I get so many people to read my books?”

            She glowers and forces herself to her feet. “If you’re all quite finished, I’m going to get some rest.”

            They all smile at her and shoot each other knowing looks.

            Elodie makes a very Cassandra-like sound in the back of her throat and marches off to her tent. “Laugh all you like, we leave at dawn!”

            She settles into her tent, her armour neatly folded, and pulls out Cullen’s letter.

 

_Inquisitor Lavellan,_

_You will be happy to hear that we have made progress on ascertaining the locations of some of Samson’s red lyrium suppliers._

_It will be a rather large undertaking but I look forward to continuing our previous discussion on the matter._

_Please allow me to debrief you personally when your duties allow._

_Yours,_

_Commander Cullen Rutherford_

           

            Elodie smiles to herself as she stretches out on her bedroll. She presses the letter to her chest and wonders how he will _debrief_ her this time.


	5. Beside You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months, she thinks.  
>  Three months of Venatori and red lyrium. Three months of darkspawn and giants and dragons. Three months of scorching hot days and endless reports and tasks.  
>  And each night as she laid in her tent, she would stare up at the canvas ceiling and linger on memories of Cullen’s nervous smile. The subtle drop of his baritone when he spoke softly and only to her. The rough scratch of his stubble when he would kiss her. The scent of lemon and cedarwood that clung to him.

It is well into the wee hours of the morning when Elodie climbs the wooden staircase that leads to her chambers.

            Skyhold is sleeping, the dim light of lanterns and sconces bathing the ancient fortress in a quiet light. It is odd for things to be so unanimously quiet that Elodie’s ears twitch at every creak of wood, every sigh of the wind.      

            Even the tavern has gone quiet as stars glint along the dark blanket of the night sky.

            She’s tugging her tunic over her head as she enters her rooms.

            A yawn escapes her as the garment falls to the floor.

            She strips down to her smalls, her breast-band chafing against her chest from months of sand and perspiration.

            With a lazy flick of her wrist the fireplace bursts into colorful warmth and she pushes open the doors to her balcony.

            The cool mountain air soothes her bare skin that feels far too brittle and dry from all that time spent trekking the Western Approach. As she gazes down on carts and tents and the telltale signs of the Inquisition, she finds herself appreciating Skyhold all the more.

            Cullen’s tower is dark and quiet, she notices from her vantage point.

            Stretching tired arms over her head, she pads back into her room.

            Everything looks ultimately untouched save the copper tub that is settled opposite her desk by the hearth.

            Cocking her head to one side she approaches it.

            Perched deliberately on the edge of her desk is a small glass jar filled to bursting with crushed herbs.

            Elodie lifts it into the firelight for inspection, turning it this way and that.

            The subtle aromas of lavender and dried mint reach her. And the faintest hint of cedarwood.

            She breathes the mixture in deeply and hums to herself as she heats the bath water and tips in a portion of the herbs.

            Upon replacing the jar to its resting place, she notices the perfectly folded square of paper that had been tucked beneath it.  

            _~~My dear~~_

_~~My darling~~_

_Lovely Elodie,_

_I hope you find the time to relax after your most recent venture._

_I very much look forward to seeing you._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

 

            She smiles, tracing the curling lines of his script in the shape of his name.

            She hasn’t seen him in nearly three months, she realizes. And he’s gone through all of this trouble just for her. He’s even made it a point to identify her favorite herbs.

            Her heart flutters.

            Just for her.

            He is taking care of her in the best way he realizes how.

            With a bit of magical coaxing, Elodie sinks down into steaming lavender-scented water.

            She nearly moans aloud at the instant relief her aching muscles experience. The knot between her shoulders begins to slowly unfurl, the crick in her neck is soothed and she stretches out her legs in ecstasy.

            The tender cramps in her thighs begin to lessen and she prays that she never has to mount a dracolisk ever again.

            She soaks for a time, basking in the warmth and breathing in lavender that makes her think of Cullen just across the courtyard.

            When her fingers begin to prune, she scrubs the remnants of the desert from her body and carefully untangles the fierce snarls in her long red hair.

            She wonders, as she washes, if she will ever truly be free of the coarse rub of sand between her toes.

            Satisfied, she sinks down until the water is up to her chin, her hair floating around her in waves and her knees peaking out of the bubbles.

            Fat drops of water strike the floor as she emerges from the bath and begins to towel her hair dry.

            She paces around her room, content to finally be in a place that actually feels like home.

            A faint light flickers in Cullen’s window as she passes her balcony again and her fingers still in her hair.

            _Three months_ , she thinks.

            Three months of Venatori and red lyrium. Three months of darkspawn and giants and dragons. Three months of scorching hot days and endless reports and tasks.

            And each night as she laid in her tent, she would stare up at the canvas ceiling and linger on memories of Cullen’s nervous smile. The subtle drop of his baritone when he spoke softly and only to her. The rough scratch of his stubble when he would kiss her. The scent of lemon and cedarwood that clung to him.

            Her steps are light and silent as she moves through the keep with a bundle of herbs clutched in her fist.

            The door whines as it opens and she pauses just inside.

            The fire is burning low and a half-eaten hunk of bread is sitting on top of an over-turned stack of reports. His inkwell is open and his quill is hanging loosely between two fingers, his arm stretched out to pillow his head and a sheaf of paper is stuck to his cheek.

            Elodie smiles fondly, the very sight of him warming her down to her toes.

            His hair is a mess of blonde curls going awry and he is without his armor, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

            She sets the herbs aside on his gathering stack of books and tends to his fire as quietly as she can manage, making sure it will warm the room through the chill of the evening.

            “Ellie?” his tired voice yawns.

            She stops at the door, hesitantly turning to face him.

            He has a smudge of ink blotting against the swell of his lower lip but his eyes are growing more alert as he watches her.

            “I did not mean to wake you, ma’isha”, she murmurs.

            He shakes his head and sits up straighter. “No. No, I was just…I suppose I _may_ have fallen asleep.” His smile is sheepish at his admission. “Are you truly back?”

            Elodie nods and moves towards him, replacing the stopper in his inkwell. She perches herself on the very edge of his desk and cards a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “Have you not been sleeping?”

            He leans into her touch, his nose skimming along the sensitive skin at her wrist. “I will sleep better now that you have returned”, he replies.

            She laughs. “As will I, Commander.”

            His eyes darken as he takes her in. Her loose tunic and leggings, the damp loose waves of her hair falling over her shoulders. “Did you enjoy your bath, Inquisitor?”

            His voice has lowered to that sinful octave and a shiver of anticipation races through her. Cullen reaches up and smooths her hair back, his fingers tracing the long point of her ear.

            Elodie’s breath catches. “I quite enjoyed it…perhaps next time I’ll have some company?”

            Cullen’s responding grin is uncharacteristically wolfish.

            “Cullen-“

            He rises from his seat and nudges her knees apart, tilting her head back for her lips to meet the bruising force of his own.

            She gathers fistfuls of his linen shirt and tugs him closer, straining her neck to return his kiss. The pressure of his mouth is desperate and wanting and he steals her very breath when his tongue traces the seam of her mouth. She tastes honey and elfroot as he plunders her mouth with precise swipes of his tongue, his knee wedged up between her thighs.

            Elodie’s hands wander down his chest before settling flat against his shoulder blades. She urges him closer and he leans her back across his desk, reports and maps fluttering to the floor.

            She hisses when he pulls away to nip at her throat.

            “Cullen, Cullen, Cullen”, she chants mindlessly.

            “Missed you”, he groans against her clavicle. “Every day…Elle-“

            The sharp sound of shattering glass has them jerking apart.

            The inkwell lays on the floor in pieces, ink spreading across the floor in a trickle of black.

            “Maker’s breath”, Cullen sighs heavily, straightening up.

            Elodie pushes herself up off of the desk.

            Cullen kneels to clean up the mess but Elodie catches his arm. “Leave it, ma’isha.”

            He swallows audibly and stares back at her.

            “Leave it”, she whispers again and he returns to her arms.

            His brow comes to rest against hers and she revels in his deep shaking breaths against her. “When will you leave again?” he mutters, nuzzling against her.       

            “Not for a while yet”, she assures him gently, her fingers twirling into the hair at the nape of his neck. She raises herself up on her toes to give him a chaste peck on the lips.

            She feels the weight of words he cannot bring himself to say in the silence that stretches between them. She thinks the same things, wants to tell him-

            “You need rest, Commander”, she says instead, rubbing at his shoulders. “Come. I’m sure we’ll be called away soon enough. Let me keep you to myself for now.”

            His smile is soft, his amber eyes warm with affection. “As my lady commands.”

 


	6. Troop Movements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps a drink is just what she needs.  
> Elodie joins Bull as he pours her a frothing mug of-  
>  “What exactly am I supposed to be drinking?” she asks as her nose wrinkles at the smell.  
>  “Maraas-lok.”  
>  The word comes out as a growl and she raises her eyebrows when he smirks.  
>  “To killing a high dragon like warriors of legend!” he announces, raising his own drink up to her.

"With the Darkspawn dealt with and Servis sitting in our dungeons our presence in the Western Approach should now be allowed to flourish more freely”, Josephine is saying as she studies her notes. “Leliana, have your agents-“

            Elodie shifts her weight, the back of her hand brushing against Cullen’s with the movement.

            Her eyes widen and she feels him stiffen beside her.

            Leliana is studying the map of Orlais, shuffling new pieces into position while Josephine scratches away at her pad.

            “Inquisitor, the draconologist that you recruited has arrived and wishes to begin his studies with Dagna”, the ambassador informs her and Elodie starts violently when she feels Cullen’s thumb brush across the ridge of her knuckles beneath the table. “It is possible he may be able to assist us with a way to combat the arch demon.”

            “My agents have uncovered a great many Venatori texts while securing the ruins in the Approach. Well done, Inquisitor”, Leliana adds, finally lifting her head.

            Elodie swallows hard, her pinky curling around Cullen’s.

            The small point of contact makes her feel equal parts grounded and breathless.

            “Yes, well-“

            The door to the war room bursts open and one of Leliana’s scouts strides in, holding out a missive. “My apologies, Sister Nightingale.” The young elf nods to Elodie. “Inquisitor.”

            Leliana scans the page with narrowed eyes. “I see…it appears our contact in Val Royeaux has come through, Josie. We shall need to make preparations. By your leave, Inquisitor. Commander.”

            The two women breeze from the room behind the scout.

            Elodie turns to stare after them as the heavy doors close. “What was that-mmm.”

            Cullen’s lips crash against hers in a torrent of tongue and teeth. He grasps her waist and walks her backwards toward the war table until the edge is digging into her spine. He readjusts his grip and hoists her up onto the map, markers skittering off of the table as she scoots back to accommodate him.

            She cages him in between her thighs, hands delving into his golden mane.

“How long”, she gasps out, “have you wanted to do this?”   

            His gloved hands tug at her leathers, pulling her camisole down so he can pepper her collarbone with hot kisses.

            “Longer than I should admit”, he responds lowly. “Maker’s breath, Ellie. I-“

            “-send scouts ahead to confirm that all is well with-“

            _“Fenedhis!”_ Elodie hisses, jumping down from the table and tugging her clothing back into place.

            Cullen lets out a frustrated groan and attempts to replace the markers where they belong.

            As the doors open again, Elodie realizes too late that Cullen’s hair is a mess and his lower lip is sporting a very clear indentation from her teeth. The tips of her ears go hot and she _feels_ Cullen’s blush from a few paces away.

            He clears his throat. “I think you’re onto something, Inquisitor. It’s an excellent plan. If we could just move this battalion a bit further north without compromising our position, we could control the region.”

            Elodie quickly follows his lead. “I agree, Commander. Ready the dispatch for me and we’ll begin immediately.”

            Josephine’s eyes alight on Cullen’s mess of disheveled curls and she quirks a brow in question.

            “And what are we doing here?” Leliana asks in a tone that lets Elodie know they’ve been caught.

            “Uh….troop movements”, Cullen offers lamely, rubbing at the back of his neck.

            “In Denerim?”

            Elodie coughs. “I’ll just-I have to see to Alhannon. Excuse me”, she mumbles and ducks her head as she rushes from the war room.

            *******

“Inquisitor!” Bull calls from his usual table. “Come have a drink!”

            The day has been long and full of tasks that demand her undivided attention. She had judged Servis and listened to reports from nobles in surrounding regions. Her head ached and there was a constant throbbing between her thighs.

            Perhaps a drink is just what she needs.

Elodie joins Bull as he pours her a frothing mug of-

            “What _exactly_ am I supposed to be drinking?” she asks as her nose wrinkles at the smell.

            “Maraas-lok.”

            The word comes out as a growl and she raises her eyebrows when he smirks.

            “To killing a high dragon like warriors of legend!” he announces, raising his own drink up to her.

            She shrugs and takes a gulp, her throat immediately going up in flames.

            Elodie sputters and chokes as the liquor blazes a fiery path down to her stomach.

            “I know, right?!” Bull chuckles deeply. “Put some chest on your chest!”

            Elodie grimaces and glares down into her cup.

            “Mmm”, he hums out contentedly. “That little gurgle right before it spat fire? And that _roar!_ What I wouldn’t give to roar like that! The way the ground shook when it landed. The smell of the fires burning… _Taarsidath-an halsaam.”_

            He definitely paints quite a vivid picture.

            She can still feel the heat from the fires and the stink of rotting gurgut mixed with charred flesh.

            “You know Qunari hold dragons sacred? Well, as much as we hold anything sacred”, he tells her with a snort.

            “You shouted that during the fight too. What does it mean?”

            The din of the tavern blends together around her and she can hear snatches of one of Maryden’s songs.

            “Oh taarsidath-an halsaam? Closest translation would be “I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect.”

            She fixes him with an incredulous look. “Really? You shouted _that_ while it was breathing fire at us?”

            He grins. “I know, right?”

            Elodie shakes her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she raises her tankard again. “Your enthusiasm is… _admirable_ , Bull.”

            “Have another drink!”

            She sighs and takes another gulp, coughing when it stings her throat.

            “Yes! The second cup’s easier. Most of the nerves in your throat are dead after the first one!” He sits back. “Ataashi. ‘The glorious ones.’ That’s our word for them. _Ataaaaasheeeee.”_

            Her head is beginning to swim as she leans towards Bull. “When you say it like that, I worry that I killed one of your gods or something”, she slurs out.

            “Nah! One of Tevinter’s gods, maybe. They worship dragons, right?”

            Elodie dipped her in a shaky nod.

            Bull chuckles. “Ah! To dragons!”

            She raises her cup higher, foam sloshing from the sides. “To finding the biggest and baddest things in the world and showing them we’re badder!”

            “Hey, Cullen.”

            Elodie’s head swivels to the side and two Cullens walk toward her. “So blurry”, she says, resting her head on her arms. “So pretty.”

            “Inquisitor?”

            She heaves a great sigh, looking him up and down. “Soooooo pretty.”

            “We may have had a few drinks”, Bull offers at Cullen’s perplexed look.

            Cullen snatches Elodie’s tankard away, sniffing at its contents. “Maker’s breath! You realize she’s less than half your size, don’t you?!” he thunders.

            “Can ha-handle it”, Elodie hiccups. “Fought a dr-dragon!”

            _“Killed_ a dragon”, Bull corrects wistfully.

            “You _what?!”_

            “You should’ve seen it, Cullen. She’s tiny but she can pack a mean punch”, Bull tells the Commander.

            Cullen narrows his eyes.

            “I l-like ta punch. Ha.”

            “She is absolutely sloshed”, Cullen groans.

            “Ah, just let her sleep it off. She’s made of strong stuff, Cullen”, Bull dismisses with a wave of his hand.

            Cullen sighs and leans down to heft the Inquisitor into his arms. “She can sleep it off in her own room then. Not at some tavern table all sticky with beer.”

            “Have fun, Boss!” the Qunari shouts as Cullen carries her from the Herald’s Rest.

            Elodie nestles her head against Cullen’s breastplate and hums happily. “Should go back to the war table”, she murmurs.

            “Oh?” He looks down at her with a smirk. “Liked that did you?”

            She gives him a toothy grin and mutters something in elvhen.

            He can hardly make out the words, not that he’d understand them anyway, but with the state she’s in he’s sure they’re filthy suggestions.

            “Oh, Elodie. You are completely pissed, aren’t you?”

            “Jus’a li’l”, she confirms, eyes swimming.

            He gives her a fond smile. “Perhaps less Qunari liquor next time?”

            She mumbles something incoherent under her breath.

            “What was that?”

            “I said I l-like Fr’elden better”, she says more clearly and punctuates her sentiment with a huff.

            He chuckles at that. “Is that so?”

            _“Mmmmhmmm.”_

            He manages to smuggle her to her rooms without much fanfare and lay her on her bed. “You are going to have such a headache”, he sighs, brushing hair from her face with gentle hands.

            She smiles up at him and rolls onto her side.

            As he turns to leave he hears her murmur sleepily, “You have pretty eyes, Cullen.”

           


	7. Andraste's Mabari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not judging you”, Elodie laughs out. “Nothing wrong with taking a break to do something you enjoy.”  
>  Cassandra groans. “They’re terrible. And magnificent. And this one ends on a cliffhanger…I know Varric is working on the next one. He must be!”  
>  Elodie retrieves the book from her friend. “Swords and Shields”, she reads aloud. “Is this the romance serial?”  
>  The same lovely shade of scarlet returns to the Nevarran woman’s features. “It’s literature”, she defends. “Smutty…literature.”  
>  “Nothing wrong with having an imagination, Cassandra. I never would have assumed you to enjoy poetic romance though.”  
>  She huffs reaching out for the tome. “Romance is not the sole province of dithering ladies in frilly dresses! It is passion. It is being swept away by the pursuit of-Pretend you don’t know this about me.”

                A gentle breeze stirs Elodie’s hair, a few strands fluttering across her brow.

                She presses her thumb to the top corner of the page she is reading and rolls her shoulders. Pregnant clouds obscure the sun and she can taste the salt on the air from the harbor. Despite the looming promise of rain, the city is as alive as ever, bustling with merchants and shoppers. All hidden behind their clever masks and heavily layered fashions.

                A lady brushes past where she is sits, a large ornate fan in her dainty grasp, long layered skirts swishing.

                Elodie crosses her ankles and angles her feet out of the way as another chattering group of nobles passes her by.

                Beside her, Cassandra makes a disgruntled sound low in the back of her throat.

                “I wonder if they will ever grow tired of such pompous shows of extravagance”, the Seeker grumbles from behind her own book.

                Elodie’s lips pull back in a slow small smile. “If that day should ever come, the entire Orlesian Empire will surely fall into chaos.”

                Cassandra snorts.

                “It isn’t for people like us”, Elodie sighs, turning the page.

                “What a relief.”

                Elodie glances sidelong at the Seeker sitting beside her. “Is that one of Varric’s books?”

                Cassandra’s face flushes scarlet as she snaps the book shut and pushes it behind her back.

                “Cassandra”, Elodie laughs. “It’s just a book.”

                “It is frivolous! There are more important things for me to. And Varric will never let me hear the end of it if he finds out. Whatever you do, do not tell him!”

                Elodie holds her hands up in surrender. “Me? No, never.”

                The Seeker narrows her eyes.

                “I’m not judging you”, Elodie laughs out. “Nothing wrong with taking a break to do something you enjoy.”

                Cassandra groans. “They’re terrible. And magnificent. And this one ends on a cliffhanger…I know Varric is working on the next one. He must be!”

                Elodie retrieves the book from her friend. “Swords and Shields”, she reads aloud. “Is this the romance serial?”

                The same lovely shade of scarlet returns to the Nevarran woman’s features. “It’s literature”, she defends. “Smutty…literature.”

                “Nothing wrong with having an imagination, Cassandra. I never would have assumed you to enjoy poetic romance though.”

                She huffs reaching out for the tome. “Romance is not the sole province of dithering ladies in frilly dresses! It is passion. It is being swept away by the pursuit of-Pretend you don’t know this about me.”

                Elodie sits up, her palms pressed over the book resting on her own lap. “No! I agree with you. Truly.”

                “My dear, you must try this fabric!” Vivienne calls out from the shop front, halting their conversation.

                Elodie heaves a great sigh. “Would you mind holding onto this for me? Duty calls.”

                Cassandra takes the offered tome and quirks an inquisitive brow. “Andraste’s Mabari?”

                Elodie shrugs, feeling the tips of her ears heat with embarrassment.

                “There you are, darling!”

                Vivienne takes Elodie’s arm and guides her back to where Dorian is chatting amicably with the seamstress amid a mountain of silks and velvets.

                Elodie swallows hard and allows herself to be swept along.

                 _I’ll be back in Skyhold by tomorrow afternoon_ , she reminds herself as she is measured and poked and prodded.

                She stands ramrod straight and as still as she can manage and wonders if being allowed to stay in Skyhold for two months is in her favor or not.

                Josephine has forbidden any travel that will take her away for more than a week and preparations for the ball have all but consumed her days. Her free time has been spent with Solas honing her new skills as _Ena'sal'in'amelan_ or dancing with Dorian in the gardens.

                She thinks of amber eyes and a gentle scar over soft lips…

                The ache in her chest clenches around thoughts of him.

                 _“Ouch!”_ she cries out as a pin catches against the tender skin at her side.

                “Forgive me, Lady Inquisitor”, the seamstress apologizes in a thick accent, not once looking up from her work.

                Dorian stands back and appraises her with a critical eye.

                “How bad is it?” Elodie groans in frustration.

                “No, no”, Dorian says. “It’s wonderful, really. Just wondering if it would look more appealing without the sleeves…”

                Vivienne takes a few steps back and makes crossing her arms look elegant. She fixes a trained eye on Elodie’s gown and gives a distinct nod. “I find myself in agreement with Lord Pavus”, she murmurs thoughtfully. “Yes. A silver trim around the hem and a fitted bodice.”

            _Ferreting out an assassin in a dress,_ she thinks venomously as her eyes roll toward the ceiling. _In the most dangerous country in Thedas, no less._

            “You’ll have the entire court wrapped around your little finger in no time, my dear”, Vivienne tells her with a genuine smile.

            “The entire _empire”_ , Dorian corrects with a devilish smirk. “You’re going to draw every eye in Orlais, Ellie.”

            Elodie refuses to flush at their praise and keeps her gaze fixed carefully ahead of her.

*******

            The evening brings about the drizzle of rain and the rampant nightlife of the capital city of Val Royeaux.

            Twinkling lights line the roofs and awnings of each building, music of flutes and strings filling the air.

            Dorian is standing outside when she emerges from the bakery with a box laden with frilly cakes. Her dress for the Winter Palace is carefully packed away and tucked under Dorian’s arm and he holds out her sack full of books.

            “For Solas”, she says simply when his gaze alights on the box in her hands.

            “Have you sufficiently shopped for everyone in Skyhold now?” he teases lightly, linking his arm with hers as they walk.

            “After what you and Vivienne put me through today, I think you have lost all rights to judge me”, she quips, tilting her chin up.

            Dorian lets out a deep and amused laugh.

            “We both know the look on your dear Commander’s face when he sees you will be entirely worth it though.”

            Elodie scowls.

            “Have you at least spoken with him?” Dorian presses, glancing at her as they walk side by side.

            She lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, _mother_. Nearly every day. He _is_ on my War Council, you know.”

            “Elodie Lavellan, you know that is not at all what I mean.”

            “I do not understand everyone’s interest in this”, she grumbles, adjusting the parcel of books and scrolls hanging from her arm.

            “You two are miserable without each other. And now you’ve both taken to coming up with excuses to see each other”, Dorian points out. _“Um…Captain Rylen’s reports, Lady Inquisitor”_ , he mocks in his best attempt at a Fereldan accent. “I thought the poor man was going to faint at the sight of your _cleavage_.”

            Elodie huffs indignantly. “Perhaps before the Winter Palace”, she muses aloud.

            She feels dreadful for lying to her dearest friend.

            But considering the limited amount of choices she is allowed to make on her own that are not considered threatening to entire nations, she holds Cullen close to her chest.

            He is new and beautiful and bright in the chaos that she constantly wades through and she will not lose him to gossip and meddling.

            “I just want you to be happy”, Dorian is saying. “You know that, right?”

            “If you truly mean that, you will never force me into a dress again”, she announces, pulling him toward the café where Vivienne and Cassandra are waiting. “And you will repay me for this atrocity in wine.”

            Dorian looks scandalized. “Would anything else even be considered civilized?”

            Elodie grins up at him, deciding to talk with Cullen before they leave for Halamshiral.

 

 


	8. Hand to Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Perhaps her worship and yourself can give them a demonstration”, Blackwall suggests from a few paces away.  
>  “And just what am I demonstrating?” she asks with a tilt of her head.  
>  Blackwall crosses his arms over his broad chest. “The importance of hand to hand combat in the event that you are disarmed.”  
>  The recruits titter nervously at Blackwall’s proposal and glance from Elodie to Cullen and back once more.  
>  Elodie shrugs off her coat and drops her satchel to the ground. “By all means, Commander”, she offers, extending her arms.

            Murmurs of her return spread quickly as Elodie and her party make their way to the stables from the main gate.

            Chatting nobles look up as she passes by with Alhannon ambling behind her and the newer recruits pause in their exercises to watch her pass through the training yard.

            She can feel Dorian’s amused smirk burning a hole into the back of her head.

            “Yes, yes, the Herald of Andraste has returned!” he announces brightly. “Beautiful as ever. Now back to your business.” He waggles his fingers to further illustrate his commands.

            “What on earth are you _gawking_ at?” she hears Cullen shouting at a rather star struck group of soldiers. “There’s a shield in your hand, _block with it!”_

            She feels her lips tugging up into a genuine smile at the commanding boom of his voice.

            Elodie nuzzles at Alhannon’s velvety nose as she passes the hart into Master Dennet’s care with a murmur of thanks.

            Vivienne is already off to meet with Josephine and Leliana and Cassandra seems content to watch the combat drills progress.

            “They are a fine group”, she comments. “Cullen has done excellent work with what we have been given. Not long ago this seemed impossible. You as a trusted friend, an army of competent soldiers. We may yet survive this war.”

            “Careful, Cassandra, you’re starting to sound awfully hopeful”, Elodie teases.

            “I suppose I am, aren’t I?”

            “Sweet Maker!” Cullen yells in frustration. “If you’re not-“ He stops short when he sees her, turning to incline his head. “Lady Inquisitor.”

            Elodie nods her acknowledgement. “Commander.”

            “Perhaps her worship and yourself can give them a demonstration”, Blackwall suggests from a few paces away.

            “And just what am I demonstrating?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

            Blackwall crosses his arms over his broad chest. “The importance of hand to hand combat in the event that you are disarmed.”

            The recruits titter nervously at Blackwall’s proposal and glance from Elodie to Cullen and back once more.

            Elodie shrugs off her coat and drops her satchel to the ground. “By all means, Commander”, she offers, extending her arms.

            “Are you sure about this?” he mumbles when she draws closer.

            She drops into a crouch in response, awaiting his move.

            His eyes darken nearly unperceptively as he studies her.

            But she notices. She feels the knot low in her stomach tighten in excitement.

            He lowers his shoulder when he charges at her and she dances out of reach, turning sharply on her heel to face him again. His brows shoot up in surprise and he stalks toward her with careful steps, one arm raised slightly in his approach.

            Elodie catches his fist when it shoots towards her and uses his weight to push herself away from him.

            Her own hand flies up and he blocks her easily.

            “I see you hardly need that shield, Commander”, she says when he yanks her arm behind her back, spinning her into his hold.

            He chuckles. “Not many fights do not involve swords these days”, he informs her, his voice lowering a touch, breath fanning across the exposed skin of her throat. “Making the shield a necessity.”

            She hums in response, his heart beating harshly against her spine.

            She brings her foot up and bashes her heel against his shin, ducking out of his reach the moment he releases her in the brief moment of pain.

            “Oh, very clever!” he chides.

            “Not everyone is going to fight fair”, she says smugly. “You fight to survive, not to stand on principle.”

            Cullen starts towards her again but Blackwall’s amused laughter gives him pause and he seems to remember their audience.

            The recruits closest to them are staring wide-eyed as their Inquisitor and Commander _flirt_ in the training yard.

            “Good show, boss”, Bull commends from the crowd.

            Cullen clears his throat anxiously and Elodie straightens, squaring her shoulders.

            “Commander”, she says before moving toward the keep.

*******

            “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it”, he all but yawns when she enters his office. “Not that there isn’t plenty to do.”

            Elodie smiles wryly at the toppling stack of paperwork covering his desk.

            “About earlier”, she begins. “I’m sorry if-“

            Cullen waves her apologies away. “It’s not as if the entire keep isn’t gossiping about us already. I think I would be more concerned if they had nothing to keep them occupied.”

            Elodie nods absently, plucking a report from the pile.

            “Have you looked at these?” she asks as she scans the page.

            “Elodie”, Cullen sighs, getting to his feet. “What’s troubling you?”

            She gnaws on her lower lip, refusing to meet his eyes as his chest presses warmly against her back. She sinks into the familiar feeling of him. “It’s nothing, really.”

            He brushes her hair from the back of her neck. “I know when you’re lying”, he murmurs against her skin.

            She takes in a shuddering breath, his hands falling to her waist.

            “Tell me”, he insists, lips moving against her shoulder.

            “It’s just…are we ready for everyone to know?” she asks hesitantly.

            Cullen doesn’t pull away for a long moment, his gentle kisses soothing against her anxieties.

            “We don’t have to be”, he says. “Not until you’re ready.”

            “And what about you?”

            “What about me?”

            She turns in his grasp, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “What do you want?”

            He smiles faintly. “I want this”, he tells her with certainty. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

            “The fact that I’m Dalish doesn’t bother you?”

            His brow furrows at that. “I-no. I didn’t think-I mean, _does_ it bother you?”

            He seems horribly conflicted, looking at her now as if seeing her for the first time.

            Elodie stretches up on her toes and presses a soft kiss to his lips.

            “As long as you care for me”, she says slowly, holding his amber gaze. “That’s all that matters.”

            “I do”, he whispers thickly, pulling her closer. “I do care for you-“

            She presses a finger to his lips. “Then that’s the end of it. We can take the rest as it comes.”

            He blinks before nodding slowly in approval. “I would…like that.”

            She pulls him back down to her, one hand tangling into his hair. “Good”, she breathes against his mouth.

            *******

            Dorian strides through Skyhold, his head buzzing with the flush of wine.

            Solas is standing on his scaffolding, palette in hand when he enters the rotunda. The elf does not acknowledge his presence until Dorian clears his throat.

            “Pavus”, he mumbles softly, turning his head.

            “Have you seen Elodie? She disappeared not long after her war council adjourned.”

            Dorian knows she isn’t going to take his advice about Cullen without a gentle _shove_ in the right direction. And after what he had seen in the courtyard that afternoon, he knows that one of them has to come to their senses soon.

            Solas hums to himself, returning his attention to his work. “Perhaps she required a moment alone. Retired early.”

            “Have you seen her or not?” Dorian demands, crossing his arms.

            “No.”

            Dorian huffs. “Really? That’s it?  _No?”_

            Solas studiously ignores him in favor of preparing the next panel of his fresco.

            The Tevinter mage groans inwardly.

             _Fine,_  he thinks to himself, _Cullen it is._

            The mountain breeze leaves him chilled and he wishes again for the mild weather of Minrathous. The south may be rustic and charming but  _kaffas_ , is it cold.

            The door sticks when he pushes it open and his words die on his tongue when he takes in the scene before him.

            Reports and dispatches litter the Commander’s desk and a few have fluttered away in the cross breeze to litter the floor. Cullen is slumped forward in his chair, clad in his shirt sleeves, snoring softly.

And sat in his lap is Elodie Lavellan.

            Her head is nuzzled against his shoulder, her mess of red hair obscuring her face, but the gentle rise and fall of her chest lets him know that she is asleep.

            Dorian stands and stares for a time, his mind racing.

             _Those stubborn fools have been lying this whole time,_  he realizes in shock.

            He has to tell Josephine.

            And Iron Bull.

            And Leliana.

           But Cullen’s arm wrapped securely around Elodie’s waist gives him pause. The way she seems to melt into the Commander’s embrace…

_No_ , he decides. Best let them break the news themselves.

           When he turns to leave, he quietly locks the door behind him.

 

           

           

                       


	9. With My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine then rounds on Cullen, eyes hard and voice scathing. “And no unnecessary skirmishes. Of any kind. I cannot very well present you to the Imperial Court covered in bruises and limping.”  
>  “I will protect the Inquisitor with my life”, Cullen swears.  
>  Elodie’s ears pink at his words and his eyes widen when he realizes what he has let slip.  
>  “Oh, of that I’ve no doubt, Commander Rutherford”, Leliana singsongs knowingly, eyes glinting with mischief. “Safe travels.”

          "There have been sightings of Red Templars in the hills surrounding these villages”, Cullen begins, pointing to a region on the map. “I have reason to believe that Samson has been carting resources from the area to solidify his army. I recommend a delicate approach to investigate these leads. A large force will attract unwanted attention and any sign of the Inquisition will surely be met with hostility.”

            “A group of my agents could easily scout the surrounding regions”, Leliana offers.

            Cullen shakes his head, one hand folded over the hilt of the sword at his hip. “Out of personal interest, I would like to go myself. And the Inquisitor’s insight would be invaluable in this instance.”

            Elodie looks up from studying the marked region. “Of course, Commander. But should we not prepare more men for a fight?”

            “With Empress Celene’s peace talks so close at hand it would be foolish to send the Inquisitor away when a group of scouts could just as efficiently handle this matter”, Josephine argues.

            Cullen searches Elodie’s face but it is Leliana that saves him.

            “No, he is right, Josie. They know exactly what to look for and Cullen served with Samson once. He may better understand his patterns of behavior”, she says thoughtfully. “And such a small team will surely go unnoticed in all of the chaos that comes with a smuggling expedition.”

            Josephine purses her lips in displeasure and turns to Elodie.

            “You will be back within a week.”

            Elodie nods solemnly. “As you wish, Ambassador.”

            Josephine then rounds on Cullen, eyes hard and voice scathing. “And no unnecessary skirmishes.  _Of any kind._  I cannot very well present you to the Imperial Court covered in bruises and limping.”

            “I will protect the Inquisitor with my life”, Cullen swears.

            Elodie’s ears pink at his words and his eyes widen when he realizes what he has let slip.

            “Oh, of that I’ve no doubt, Commander Rutherford”, Leliana singsongs knowingly, eyes glinting with mischief. “Safe travels.”

*******

            “What about the flowers you have been sending her?” Leliana asks.

            Josephine sighs, moving a pawn. “She seems not to have noticed.”

            The spymaster narrows her eyes on the board, biting down on her lower lip. “How much longer do you think they can keep this up?”

            “At this rate, they may never truly admit to their feelings. I’ve exhausted my resources on the matter.”

            “There must be something else we can try”, Leliana muses, folding her hands beneath her chin.

            “Are we discussing the Lady Inquisitor?”

            Both women look up as Dorian strides into the gardens.

            “Leliana seems to think that our Inquisitor and Commander have already begun a romantic affair. I, however, remain unconvinced”, Josephine explains.

            Dorian grins. “And just what makes the Sister Nightingale think this?”

            Leliana arches an intrigued brow. “What do _you_ know, Master Pavus?”

            _“Me?”_ Dorian repeats. “I am shocked at you, ladies. Just what makes you believe that _I_ would know anything?”

            “You and the Inquisitor are quite close”, Josephine admits.

            “I suppose we are, aren’t we?” Dorian says, leaning against a pillar.

            “Do not look so smug”, Leliana chastises. “Has she said anything about him?”

            “She doesn’t have to”, the mage replies. “Spend ten minutes with either of them and it’s as clear as day. They are hopelessly infatuated with one another.”

            “What aren’t you telling us?” Josephine demands. “Have you heard something new?”

            Dorian lets himself lounge amid their questioning while inspecting his fingernails. “I’m not so sure I should say.”

            “I can always find out for myself”, purrs Leliana.

            “I do believe we caught them holding hands under the war table just the other day”, Josephine adds helpfully.

            Dorian’s smirk slides from his face. “Holding hands? That’s all you’ve got? Really?”

            Josephine meets his gaze. “I did hear a rumor-“

            _“Kaffas!_ I caught them canoodling in his office weeks ago!” he blurts, unable to contain the weight of the secret any longer. “And I kept quiet because I am a good friend. The _best_ friend. But Maker preserve me, I knew first!”

            Josephine’s jaw drops in a very un-ladylike fashion and Leliana grins like a feral cat who’s caught a songbird.  

            “Now was that so hard?”

*******

            The sun is beginning its downward trek over the mountains when Elodie makes her way out to the courtyard. Her pack is slung over her shoulder and her satchel of herbs is grasped tightly in one hand.

            Cullen had offered to make the necessary arrangements for their excursion and she had been whisked away to another dress fitting in the meantime, much to her chagrin.

            The training yard is nearly empty with the soldiers heading back to the barracks to prepare for the evening meal. Even Blackwall and Master Dennet have left the barn in favor of a drink and a hearty dinner.

            She sees Cullen leaning into Alhannon’s stall and can catch snatches of whispered conversation that he is sharing with the beast.

            “-I won’t tell her if you don’t, agreed?”

            She finds herself smiling affectionately at the pair of them.

            Cullen’s spine goes ramrod straight when he hears her approach.

“Inquisitor”, he greets her as she enters the stables, turning from the hart. “I was just-“

            Elodie grins when he folds his hands behind his back and steps away from Alhannon’s stall. The red hart grunts in protest and strains his neck towards Cullen again.

            “Giving Alhannon sugar cubes”, she finishes for him with a knowing smile.

            Cullen rubs at the back of neck, clearly embarrassed at being caught.

            “I think he likes you just fine without the promise of treats”, she informs him laughingly, giving Alhannon an affectionate rub on the snout. “Besides, I think Blackwall sneaks him apples when I’m not around.”

            She retrieves her saddle and Cullen takes it from her hands. “Allow me”, he offers.

            Elodie flushes and stands back as he saddles the hart and packs her saddlebags with her belongings and supplies.

            “Thank you.”

            She’s embarrassed by how breathless her voice is when she speaks so she clears her throat nervously in a vain attempt to mask the sound. Cullen’s mouth twists up into a pleased smirk at her tone, the scar above his lip pulling alluringly with the movement.

            “We should go”, she manages to say as Cullen passes her Alhannon’s reigns. “We’ve a lot of ground to cover.”

            Cullen nods, leading his own mount from the stables.

            She stares at the back of his head as they cross the bridge from Skyhold and  move out into the cold expanse of the Frostbacks. Her heart hammers in her chest.

            _Nearly a week alone with him,_ she thinks and is suddenly very uncertain.

            Her fingertips graze the arrowhead that rests above the swell of her breast and she steels herself. Cullen knows of Ladahlen. And she would not lose him the same way…

            Alhannon trots up beside the Fereldan Forder and Cullen offers her a soft smile that warms her from the crown of her head down to her toes.

            _This will be different,_ she promises herself. _Take the happy moments where you can. The world will take the rest._

            So she smiles back and lets herself relax in her saddle.

           

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my current play-through with my lovely Elodie who I have been working on for months.  
> I have been encouraged by my lovely friend, littlemissjigglypuff, to continue forward with Elodie and Cullen's relationship and I'm happy to have listened.  
> So here we are. I hope you enjoy!  
> Come say hi on tumblr. @shadowheartoffaith


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